


Not Far From The Tree

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (2011)
Genre: Gen, Japanese Character(s), Japanese Mythology & Folklore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-18
Updated: 2011-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-27 11:57:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Emma Swan arrives in Storybrooke, things start changing for everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Far From The Tree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maryling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maryling/gifts).



> Happy Yule, Maryling! Like you, I wanted to see more of the non-Disney/European fairytales in the world of the show, and since my current love is Japan... well, you'll see :)

The bells above the door jangled.

“Irasshaimase!”

Tomio Miyoshi hardly even realised he responded to the bell automatically. He turned around to the counter, wiping a glass, and stopped short. His sushi bar was one of the few restaurants in Storybrooke that didn’t get by on burgers and fries, and there was a reason for that. Still, he had a small, loyal clientele who always stopped by.

The woman heading towards him wasn’t one of them.

She had a look about her that suggested she didn’t take any bullshit from anyone, and Tomio respected that. It didn’t hurt that she was easy on the eyes too: athletic and blonde, and she grinned at him in a way that meant trouble.

“Hey,” he said. “Welcome to Miyoshi Sushi.”

She perched on one of the stools. “It says on the sign this is the best sushi in Maine,” she said, sprawling back in the stool. “That true?”

He smiled. “I’ve never had any complaints,” he replied.

“Hmm.” Her eyes were dancing. “Okay, I’ll trust you. What do you recommend?”

He slid a menu card across the counter to her. “You want my honest opinion?”

“Shoot.”

“All of it.” He knew he kept his face straight, but she still snorted, shaking her head. “Okay, I give. Anything with crab is my favourite, but it’s down to your tastes.” He poured her a cup of green tea and placed it on the counter. “Tell you what. Since you’re new in town, I’ll give you a special discount.”

She flipped open the menu, shooting him an amused look. “I’m that obvious?”

He inclined his head. “Only a little.” Her eyebrows rose. “Okay, maybe a lot.”

“I’m Emma,” she said, offering a hand.

“Tomio,” he replied, shaking her hand. “I’m Tomio Miyoshi.”

“So this is your place, huh?” she asked.

He lifted his shoulders slightly. “I try.”

She looked around the modest restaurant. It was basic, simple booths, each of which had a case of chopsticks which was embossed with his name in kanji, and various sauces in small, gleaming bottles. The walls were plain white, and there were only a few simple, traditional prints here and there.

“I like it,” she declared. “The guest house is great and the bar too, but this place feels like it could be back in the city.”

He grinned at the commendation. “Keep going and you may eat for free,” he warned.

Emma laughed. “Oh, don’t try me,” she said, flipping through the menu. “I could eat everything you’ve got in here and then some.” She set it down, and pressed it flat with both hands. “Okay, Miyoshi-san, I’ll try your favourite crab varieties, the sashimi set meal and a side of miso soup.”

“Something light, huh?” he said, retreating into the kitchen area.

“I’m being merciful,” she replied, picking up her tea and sipping it. She was silent for a while, as he prepared the food. “What made you set up a sushi bar in Storybrooke?”

“Huh? Oh, I figured there wasn’t one,” he replied, looking over at her. “It’s one of the things I’m good at, and since I couldn’t find one here, I thought someone should set one up. There’s a small Japanese community after all.” He laughed briefly. “Figured this would be a good place for them, but they hardly ever come out of Little Tokyo.”

“Little Tokyo?” Emma asked doubtfully. “Here? This place is tiny.”

He smiled ruefully. “It looks it, doesn’t it?” he said. “We have a few small communities around, but they’re not great at mixing things up. You know what older people in these kind of places are like.”

“Our way or the highway?” she suggested, turning the cup on the counter.

He hesitated, then nodded. Older people always assumed they knew what was best, and if not, sometimes they could be very harsh in making their point. He wondered briefly where his family were. It didn’t make it easier.

She didn’t say anything and that surprised him. Sometimes, people tried for fake sympathy, but she was just gazing at him, calm and knowing, and he had a feeling she knew just how full of crap families could be.

He returned his attention to the food, losing himself in the familiar motions: stir, cut, slice, pour. They were skills he had learned almost before he could walk, and when he presented the food to her, he knew it was pretty damn good.

Emma picked up a pair of chopsticks, snapping the ends apart. He pretended to be cleaning up as she dug into the food, and smiled at his reflection in the polished surface as she exclaimed, “This stuff is amazing!”

He turned, still smiling. “Thanks.”

She raised her cup of tea in a toast. “I’ll be coming here more often,” she said.

 

________________________________

 

Tomio was half-asleep on his feet.

He wasn’t by nature a heavy sleeper, but lately, his dreams had grown stranger and stranger, waking him in the middle of the night. He could hardly remember them, glimpses of a battle, and animals at his side. The one thing that remained clear, though, was the sound of a rushing river and the smell of ripe peaches.

“Hey, Tom-san.” Kitty poked him on the forehead. “Wakey-wakey.”

She was one of the girls who played waitress when they got busy on Wednesdays. She was a third-generation Japanese girl, but like him, she didn’t live in Little Tokyo. She and her extended family always insisted they didn’t fit in there. Tomio wasn’t sure that anyone with hair as pink as Kitty’s would fit in anywhere. She agreed to tie it back, at least, but why she had it in three ponytails, he didn’t want to know.

“I’m up,” he assured her, returning to the task at hand: a sushi platter for the Mayor, while Melissa was working on Henry’s favourite dish of yakisoba.

Regina and Henry came to the restaurant once a month, or twice if Regina was having a particularly good week. It was a while since they had visited, and judging by the gossip running through Storybrooke, that was all down to Emma, who seemed to have made an enemy of the Mayor.

Kitty propped her elbows on the edge of the shelf between them, peeking between bottles and jars, her eyes dancing. “How about I mix some wasabi into the mayo?” she whispered, making the bottle of mayo wiggle with her fingertips. “I bet Lady Mayor would love that.”

“Don’t you dare,” he retorted, keeping his voice low. He had to admit the idea of putting mayo anywhere near roe sushi made his stomach turn, but Regina always insisted on having a bowl on her table. He didn’t dare look to see what else she used it with. The first time he saw her dunk something into it, he had turned his face back into the kitchen.

The bell on the door jingled.

“Irasshaimase!” It was a chorus of three, though Kitty rolled her eyes, pushing back from the shelf and spinning around.

“Duty calls, huh?” she said over her shoulder. She snatched up a couple of menus and her notebook, then headed to wait on the latest guests.

Tomio finished the final piece for his platter, and was just carrying it out to serve when Kitty hurtled back towards the counter. “Whoa! What’s up?”

“They don’t speak English!” Kitty yelped, ducking behind the counter and hiding behind him. “They started talking at me, but I never learned to speak it, but I look like I should, and they must think I’m totally dumb!”

“Again, with context?”

A bracelet-ringed arm stuck around his side and pointed at the last booth near the window. “They’re old and she’s wearing a kimono and they don’t speak English,” she mumbled against his shoulder. “Can you go talk to them?”

Tomio stifled a groan. “Can you take the platter to the Mayor?” he asked, setting it down on the counter to straighten his apron. Kitty leaned up and pecked him on the cheek. He rolled his eyes at her, then took a spare notebook and headed for the booth.

As Kitty had observed, the guests were both elderly. The man was clearly in his best formal suit, while the woman was in a modest kimono with the hint of a flowing river visible about her legs that - if he remembered correctly - was a suitable choice for the season.

He bowed deeply when they both looked at him, and formally greeted them in the best Japanese he could remember. It was more than twenty years since he had last been in Japan, and he only hoped his rusty schoolboy Japanese would be polite enough.

“Ah!” the man said warmly. “I am glad we are able to be understood.”

Tomio took a moment to pick through the meaning and bowed again. “It is my honour. I hope that you find pleasure in my humble food.” He noticed the woman hide a small smile behind frail, age-lined hands, the skin so fine he could see the pale veins beneath. “I am full of regret. We do not have a menu in Japanese.”

The elderly man bowed his grey head. “This is a sushi restaurant,” he said, his bird-bright eyes twinkling, and Tomio had the weirdest feeling he was being teased. “We expect to find sushi. Is this correct?”

“This is correct,” Tomio replied, bowing again. He promptly listed all the ingredient he could remember the names of in Japanese, until the couple took pity on him. They spoke in hushed voices, then the husband slowly and carefully listed what they wanted to order, pausing after each word to give Tomio time to write it down.

Tomio bowed once more, deeply, then retreated back to the counter.

Kitty was bouncing from foot to foot anxiously. “Did you understand them?”

“Yeah,” he replied, “and now they think that their chef is dumb too.” She squeaked and hid her face behind her notebook, as if to ward off his wrath. He snorted in amusement. “You get out there and give them some tea.”

“Yes sir, Tom-san,” she said with a quick salute, and fled for the cups.

“And don’t forget to bow!” he called, as he headed back into the kitchen.

Out of respect, when the dishes were prepared, Tomio took the tray out himself. The couple made appreciative sounds as the plates were placed before them, and the lady reached out to pat his hand, like a proud mother.

“Your presentation is very good.”

He knew he was probably grinning like an idiot. Just to be on the safe side, he said his thanks in as many ways as he could remember, bowed even more and retreated to let them eat in peace.

He paused at the Mayor’s booth. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I would have brought your food myself, but our new arrivals didn’t speak English, and Kitty was worried about offending them.”

Regina smiled at him. She looked as tired around the eyes as he felt. “I understand, Tom,” she said, and he wondered for the hundredth time if she realised how much it really bugged him when she Americanised his name. “As long as you prepared it, I don’t mind who brings it to the table.”

He glanced at Henry, who was still nose-deep in his noodles. The kid never could work chopsticks, and he had one in each hand, and was trying his best to scoop the noodles up one at a time. He had a soy moustache and beard already, from trailing dribbles.

“How’s your soba, Henry?”

“Real good,” Henry replied happily. “Look! I can do it!” He stuck the two chopsticks into the mess of noodles and pulled up a dripping noodle.

Regina shook her head with a rueful sigh. “I think we’ll be here for a while yet,” she said, looking at Tomio. “I’d give him an hour to finish.”

Tomio ruffled the boy’s hair. “In Japan, you enjoy your food for the way it looks and tastes, not how quickly you eat it,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

Henry beamed at him as he slurped up another noodle. “Is that your mom and dad?” he asked, pointing at the elderly couple with a chopstick.

Tomio looked at him, surprised. “No,” he said, shaking his head with a quick, almost convincing laugh. “They’re just here to eat, like you and your mom. My mom and dad don’t live in Storybrooke.”

The boy looked up at him. “That’s kinda sad,” he said.

Tomio shook his head again, kind of confused by the boy’s expression. “Not when you’re as busy as I am,” he replied. He looked back at Regina. “Will you be wanting the usual desserts, ma’am? Only Peter called to say he’s running a little late as usual.”

Regina glanced across the table at her son. “I think we may still be here by closing,” she said, and offered him a brief smile. “I’ll let you know when we get through our main.” She picked up her own chopsticks again, and Tomio hurried back towards the kitchen to avoid seeing what strange cocktail of sauces she was currently using.

Kitty was hiding out with Melissa in the kitchen, both of them taking advantage of the brief respite to dig into a rice bowl and udon respectively.

“Since when do natives come here?” Melissa demanded. She was a tall, slim woman, with a grave expression and a ferocious temper that had scared off three other chefs. She was also an excellent sushi chef, even trained to deal with the potentially deadly fugu. For that, he was more than happy to keep her around. “Not that it’s bad, but it’s unexpected.”

Tomio shrugged. “The more guests the better,” he said.

“And it’s kind of nice that someone eats Tom-san’s food the way it’s meant to be eaten, isn’t it?” Kitty said with a mischievous grin at him, fishing through her noodles and picking up the juicy piece of tofu.

“Kitty…”

She took two large bites out of her tofu and grinned at him, her cheeks puffed out with food. She looked like a chipmunk.

“She’s right, though,” Melissa said with a knowing look.

Tomio glanced through the metal shelves that separated kitchen from restaurant. The couple were clearly enjoying their meal and he smiled. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Just for once.”

 

___________________________________

 

 

Autumn had descended on Maine like the proverbial wet blanket.

Tomoi was glad he lived within easy walking distance of the restaurant. Still, it was far enough that the legs of his pants were soaked through by the time he got in. He had just changed into his chef's clothing when there was a rattle at the back door.

As expected, his fish delivery was waiting, delivered by Amy Rayne. She currently was huddled under her lace-edged umbrella, and combined with her long, hooded black coat, it gave the impression he was looking at a goth mushroom.

"Hey, Amy."

The soaked woman glared at him. "Every time I come here, it's raining," she complained, hurrying into the kitchen with the trolley she was pulling. "Do you just check the weather reports and order especially to make sure that whenever I have to show up, it's pouring?"

"You give me too much credit," Tomoi replied with a crooked smile. "Did you get them?"

She nodded, hefting a polystyrene box up onto the counter and flipping the lid open. Inside, nested in a bed of ice, several prime specimens of eel stared glassily at him. "You don't usually want so many."

Tomoi quickly scrubbed his hands at the sink, then picked one of the eels up and examined it. The old couple, Mr and Mrs Mori, who had visited some days before had returned once or twice, then out of the blue, Mrs Mori called to say she was bringing friends and asking if he would maybe be able to provide unagi-don.

"They're not really popular with my regulars," he said, "but I've got a party coming in tonight, and I'm hoping that'll get some more people interested."

She grinned. "Here's hoping. It's always easier to get the local produce," she said, unzipping her knee-length jacket and pulling out forms. "Here. Dump the fish and put your mark down. I wanna get home before it gets any worse."

"You know the minute you get home, it'll stop," he said, wiping his hands and taking the pen and paper.

"Probably," she agreed gloomily, wheeling the trolley to the refrigerator and dragging the heavy door open. She started stacking the boxes on a vacant shelf, complaining to herself as she did so about the treacherous weather, and how unfair it was.

Tomio hid a grin, leafing through the pages to check the order. Once he reached the final page, he signed with a flourish. It was halfway between the kanji that formed his name and English, but on the whole, it looked like someone had scribbled a knot on the page.

Half an hour after Amy departed, Melissa arrived, adding the first of a series of umbrellas to the rack by the front door. Kitty came in soon after, wearing gumboots with cat faces glued onto the toes.

“You sure the big party is still coming, Tom-san?” she asked, peeling off her raincoat and hanging it out of sight in the staffroom. “Looks like all the angels in heaven are taking a leak right now.”

Tomio paused, his knife halfway through slicing an eel. “Kitty, has anyone ever told you that you really have a knack for bad mental images?” She peeked around the edge of the staff area, only the top of her head and her eyes visible, but he could still tell she was grinning from ear to ear. “That was a dumb question, wasn’t it?”

Melissa snorted, already in the kitchen and sorting out her blades. “You employed her,” she said. “You let her in the building and keep paying her.”

“You love it,” Kitty said happily, skipping out from the staff area. Tomio looked her up and down. She was wearing a pair of mismatched purple and blue stockings, a frilled skirt that jutted out around her like a creampuff above her knees, and a blouse patterned with tiny, waving lucky cats. She had even pushed the boat out and changed her hair to four ponytails instead of three. “What? You said look nice.”

“You look cute,” he agreed with a rueful smile. “Now, can you go and make sure the tables are ready?”

She saluted, then bounced off into the dining area.

Melissa leaned sideways around the side of the counter. “They’ll either think she’s kawaii or whatever it is she’s always saying,” she said, “or those old girls are going to have plenty of gossip for the bus home.”

“Win-win?” he said weakly.

“Ha!” Melissa snorted, disappearing back in to the kitchen.

Fortunately, Kitty made a good impression, and the ladies fussed around her when they finally arrived. Like Mrs Mori, they were all Japanese obaasans, every one of them small, silver-haired and bright-eyed.

“Go get ‘em, Tiger,” Melissa snickered.

Fortunately, Tomio was finding it easier to remember his Japanese with each meeting, and Mrs Mori was always more than happy to encourage him. She ordered for her friends, each of whom was surveying him with obvious interest, and when the food was brought, he felt more anxious than he had the first time he had prepared food for the public.

The general consensus appeared to be approval, so he fled for the safety of the kitchen and left them to it until another guest came in.

“Busy tonight,” Emma observed, sitting down on one of the stools at the counter.

“Have you been spreading the word?” he asked, pouring her tea as Kitty bustled from table to table with drinks and dishes.

“Me?” Emma looked surprised. “Only to people I know.”

“Maybe you should be my lucky cat,” he said with a laugh. “Ever since you showed up, I’ve had more guests come through my doors… irasshaimase!” Another man had just entered the restaurant. “See what I mean?”

Emma glanced over her shoulder, grinning. “Want me to take a cut in your profits?” she suggested, eyes dancing.

“Want me to prepare fugu for you?” he returned.

“Are you trained?” she said.

He smiled widely. “No.”

She rolled her eyes, still smiling. “Fine, no cut in the profits, if I want to walk out the doors alive. Got it.”

“Tom-san!” Kitty hurtled up to the counter again. “Mori-san and her friends want more plum wine and sake!”

“I thought you didn’t speak Japanese.”

She made a face. “You don’t need translation when it comes to booze and old ladies,” she retorted. “You got any more?”

“Melissa’ll get it down from the shelf for you,” he said. “Can you see to…”

“The new guy who means even more table-waiting so I get a raise?” Kitty said hopefully.

“See how he tips first,” Tomio replied, shaking his head as she skipped off. “I swear I don’t know where she gets her energy.”

“She’s like a puppy,” Emma said, sipping her tea. “Running in circles.”

Tomio laughed. “At least she doesn’t chase her tails,” he said. “What can we get for you tonight?”

Emma glanced around at the busy restaurant. “Something you’re working on already,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “Looks like you could use a break.”

He looked relieved. “Unagi-don?”

She saluted him with her cup. “And some of that plum wine the old girls are getting?”

He bowed habitually before heading back into the kitchen. It was verging on frantic, and was even more crowded when Peter finally showed up. Peter O’Hare was their dessert specialist. He was hopeless at time-keeping, but when he produced one of his dishes, somehow, punctuality didn’t matter any more.

“Sorry, boss…”

“You’re going to have a world of mochi to prepare,” Tomio warned. “We have a party of twelve and they’re traditionalists. Apologies later. Making the best damn mochi you ever made now.”

It felt great to have so many people in, but working in the kitchens also meant he missed out on a lot of the socialising he enjoyed about working in the restaurant. He could see Mrs Mori and her friends talking and laughing. They were growing more animated with every cup, while Emma was sitting alone at the counter, watching as he and the staff worked.

Dishes were taken to tables as quickly as they were prepared, and it was at least an hour before they had a respite to stop, take a breath and grab a quick drink.

“Tom-san!” Kitty peeped into the kitchen.

“Yeah?”

The girl grinned sheepishly at him. “Mrs Mori wants you. She’s… kinda giggling.”

“Once more into the breach,” Peter muttered, as he worked on a mochi platter.

“At least you know it’s not something bad,” Melissa said, grinning unsympathetically.

Tomio washed his hands and checked he wasn’t too dishevelled before heading out into the restaurant. Emma looked like she was trying to keep from laughing, her eyes fixed firmly on her rice bowl, and he wondered if she had any idea what he was walking into.

“Mori-san, you wished to see me?” he said, approaching the table.

She blinked at him, then smiled brightly. “Ah! Yes! Your name. It is wrong.”

He wondered if he had misheard. “I do not understand.”

One of her friends obligingly pushed the menu to her, and Mrs Mori pointed at the kanji of his name. “This!” she said firmly. “Your name.”

He looked down at the kanji in even more confusion. It was made up of two symbols, one of which mean peach, and the other which meant forest. “It is the name of my family, Mori-san,” he said carefully. “Why is it wrong?”

“It is wrong, because this is mine!” she said, emphatically jabbing the second kanji. “That is my name.”

Ah! It was beginning to make sense now, as the kanji for forest also formed her name. “It is in both our names,” he said.

She looked up at him solemnly. “I am taking my name back,” she told him, with almost convincing sobriety. “You may keep the other part for your name. Momo. I shall call you that from now on, Momo-chan.”

He stared her. “Uh.” It was definitely an American sound, but it translated well enough into Japanese, because a dozen tiny, wrecked ladies giggled behind their hands. “If you wish to, Mori-san.”

She patted his arm. “I do, Momo-chan,” she said, “and we wish to order dessert.”

He bowed, confused beyond the telling, and said, “I will fetch the menu.”

The giggles from the table followed him all the way to the kitchen, and then, he was greeted by a fresh wave of giggles from Kitty.

“Momo-chan!” she squeaked, pulling up her apron to hide behind it. “Little peach!”

Tomio blushed to the tips of his ears.

 

_________________________________

 

 

The change in fortunes of the sushi restaurant continued, and Tomio was unsurprised when other people noticed.

He was out, collecting some supplies from the grocers before opening when trouble started, and he got back to hear Melissa swearing from the front of the shop. Setting down his bag, he headed through the kitchen, and was unsurprised to see Mister Gold standing there, smiling mildly, and leaning on his walking stick.

“Melissa?”

Melissa spun around. “Just telling this creep to go to hell,” she hissed. “Says we owe him.”

Tomio nodded brusquely, and gestured for her to return to the kitchen. “Mr Gold?”

Gold tilted his head and gazed at Tomio, his expression unreadable. It was probably meant to be an attempt at intimidation, but after facing down Japanese parents, a middle-aged white man with a limp and an overwhelming sense of self-entitlement was hardly frightening.

“I hear you have good fortune these days,” he said. “I just came by to pass on my… congratulations.”

“All through my own work,” Tomio murmured. “I didn’t notice you hanging around here, offering your generous help when I was struggling to get started.”

Gold laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, I’m always around, Tom.”

Tomio pushed off from the counter and took a step closer to the other man. Tomio was the first to admit that he was short, especially compared to most of the guys in town, but being short didn’t mean anything if you had the right attitude. Mr Gold looked surprised, even though he tried to hide it. Tomio wondered if anyone had ever had the balls to stand up to the pawnshop-owning creep.

“You’re going to walk out of here, Mr Gold,” he murmured. “Right now. I don’t owe you anything. You don’t belong in my place, and you sure as hell don’t have any influence on where I put my success and my money.” He smiled. “And if you don’t, I don’t have any problem with calling the Sheriff’s office. I’m sure Emma would be more than glad to help out with threats, blackmail and intimidation, don’t you?”

Gold’s eyes narrowed for a split-second, then he smiled again. “As I said, Tom,” he said with chilly politeness, his expression unreadable. “I only came by to offer my congratulations on your success.” He held out a hand. Tomio looked at it, then back at Gold’s face. Gold lowered his hand. “It would be terrible for that luck to change.”

“Yeah,” Tomio agreed. “It would. So it’s a good thing that it isn’t your concern, isn’t it? I’m not from your little circle. I never was. You know it. I know it. Us lot from Little Tokyo never get a look from you unless you want something.” He stepped back and jerked his head in the direction of the door. “Get the hell out of here, Gold.”

Gold gazed at him for a moment, then turned around and walked to the front door, his cane tapping on the floor.

As soon the door closed, Tomio exhaled a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding.

“You think that’ll come back and bite us on the ass?” Melissa inquired.

He turned around to face her, and stared at the knife in her hand. “Mel, how long were you holding that?”

She looked down at it, tilting it in the light, then back at him. “This? About as long as you were talking to him.” She smiled quickly. “Don’t worry. Your balls were showing plenty, even if I was standing right behind you with a knife.”

The bells on the door jangled again and Tomio whirled around, paranoid.

“Tom-san! Help!” Kitty squeaked. “Peter’s out on the street. He needs help!”

Tomio raced towards the door, his first fear that Gold had lashed out at one of his staff, but there was no sign of him. Peter O’Hare was kneeling in the gutter beside an old man, who was leaning up on one arm, groaning. His

“He fell!” Kitty said, bobbing around them like a cork in a river. “Is he going to die?”

“Kitty, inside, now,” Tomio said sharply, crouching down. “Peter?”

O’Hare looked up at him. “I saw him go down,” he said. “I think it’s just a faint, but we should call an ambulance. Can we take him inside? It’s too damn cold to leave anyone sitting out here.”

“Sure,” Tomio said, then touched the old man’s shoulder. “Can you move, sir?”

“M’good.” His speech was faint, but just about audible. “Slipped. Ice. Don’t worry.”

Tomio and Peter exchanged glances, then slid their shoulders under the man’s arms and hoisted him upright, gently guiding him into the warmth of the restaurant. Kitty pulled out a chair from one of the tables, hovering anxiously by as they helped him sit.

“Kitty, can you call an ambulance.”

“Nonsense,” the old man said hoarsely. He seemed to be recovering some colour. His wispy white hair stood around his head like a corona, and pale, water eyes peered at him. “It was just a fall. No need to fuss.”

“We should to be on the safe side…” Peter said.

The old man looked at him. “Don’t waste their time, young man,” he said. He pressed a hand to his back through his thick winter coat. “Just some bruising.” He patted Peter on the shoulder. “Thank you for your concern.” He started to try to rise, but sank back down with a hiss of pain. “I don’t suppose I could impose upon you until the spasms stop?”

Peter looked at Tomio, his green eyes wide. “Can we, boss?”

“Not a problem,” Tomio assured him. “You have a seat. Do you want something warming to eat while you’re here?”

Pale eyes peered around. “Is this foreign food?” the old man asked. “I don’t take well to foreign food.”

“I’ll make you something American, sir,” Peter assured him. “You just stay put and I’ll make something to warm you up.”

“Would you like some water?” Kitty offered. “I can get you water. Or tea. Or something.”

The man nodded, and they both hurried off on their appointed tasks.

“You sure you don’t need checked over?” Tomio said, sitting down by the man.

The old man shook his head, with a dismissive wave of one hand. “I’m fine,” he said. “Fine. Don’t worry. I would be more concerned about the fact a stranger has invaded your restaurant and distracted your staff.”

Tomio smiled. “Oh, trust me, after the first guest we had today, you’re a breath of fresh air.”

“And since Peter’s always late anyway,” Kitty said, presenting him with a large cup of steaming tea, “by the time he finishes your dinner, it’ll be the usual time he arrives.”

“I heard that!” Peter called through from the kitchen.

Kitty giggled, skipping back towards the counter.

“You have good staff,” the old man said, cupping the tea between his palms.

Tomio smiled. “I know.”

 

________________________________________________

 

There were streamers trailing from the ceiling, and Tomio wasn’t quite sure how they got there, or how they might get them down.

Kitty flung her arms around him from behind. “That was the best new year’s party ever,” she said happily. “I never ate so many nigiri in my whole life!”

He shot her a fond look. “I find that hard to believe,” he said, turning in her arms to give her a warm hug.

Only a fortnight earlier, she had persuaded him that he should join in the trend for throwing a New Year’s Party, especially since they had a lot of new regulars. To his surprise, when she started selling tickets to customers, which included a buffet at the restaurant, it sold out in less than two days.

It was true they could only fit thirty people in the restaurant at most, but those thirty made the party. While Peter had been unable to attend, he’d left a supply of mochi and green tea ice cream that would feed fifty. Melissa excelled herself with some of the best sushi they ever served, and sake flowed like tap water.

“Thank you for letting us have the party here,” she said solemnly, looking up at him.

He dropped a kiss on the end of her nose. “Thank you for persuading me it would be a good idea,” he replied. “And thank you for hanging around to help me clear up the worst of it. You could have run for it.”

“You could say that to the person who is _actually_ clearing up,” Melissa called through from the kitchen. “Will you two get your butts in here and help?”

Tomio and Kitty exchanged looks, then both burst out laughing. He gave her a nudge in the direction of the kitchen, then went to the tables to clear up the dishes, of which there were many, and leftovers, of which there were few.

It took them nearly two hours, all told, to clear the food and put the dishes through the washer. Finally, looking around the deserted restaurant, Tomio declared, “The decorations aren’t going to kill anyone if they stay up a few days. I think we can call it a night.”

“Five in the morning isn’t night,” Melissa said with a yawn.

He smiled. “You know what I mean,” he said. “Thanks for hanging around.”

She cuffed him on the shoulder. “Don’t get sentimental on me, jackass,” she said. “Happy new year, and all that.”

“Yeah,” he said, moving towards her.

“Whoa! Back up, bossman. No hugging!” Melissa backed behind the counter. “You think I want your sentiment-cooties?”

Tomio looked sideways at Kitty. “Can you hold her?”

“Sure!”

Within a few seconds, a yelling Melissa had been securely pinned by Kitty and was on the receiving end of a New Year’s hug from her employer. All three of them dissolved into helpless laughter, and he ushered them to fetch their coats.

“See you in a few days,” Melissa said, as she fastened herself up, heading for the door.

“And not before,” he cautioned. “You’re having a real vacation.”

She rolled her eyes and snorted, stamping out the door into the snow.

“I bet her resolution was to be less of a grump,” Kitty said, discreetly sliding a last plastic-wrapped nigiri off the counter and into her pocket.

“You know that’s asking for a miracle,” Tomio replied with a crooked grin. He gave her a squeeze. “You okay to get home alone?”

She nodded happily. “I sent dad a message to meet me at the corner of Bellevue in fifteen minutes,” she replied. “How about you? Heading home?”

Tomio shook his head. “I have some place to be,” he said.

“Oh!” Her eyes shone. “Is that what the boxes are for? The ones in the refrigerator?”

Tomio smiled. “I wondered if you saw them,” he said.

A few weeks earlier, Mrs Mori had sadly mentioned that she missed the traditional New Year’s meals, and that they didn’t have any children of their own to help them have a proper Japanese new year celebration, not since their only son had passed away a decade before.

The same day, Tomio had ordered the lacquered boxes on the internet, and before the new year’s party, he spent hours preparing food for them. A lot of the recipes were new and unfamiliar, but he did his best, and made the boxes as beautiful and tasty as he could.

“Dad told me about the way they used to do new year stuff at home,” she said with a wistful sigh. “I wish mom would make all kinds of awesome food for us to eat.”

“You mean instead of the burgers and fries and shakes you usually get on new year?” he teased.

“Hey, it’s pizza this year,” she retorted, wrapping her scarf around her neck.

He laughed. “Exciting.”

Kitty punched him on the arm.

“Ow! Thanks, Melissa!”

“Hey!” she protested, laughing. She leaned up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “I hope you have a good new year, Tom-san.”

“You too, Kitty,” he said, giving her a warm hug. “Enjoy your pizza.”

She pulled her fluffy hat with the pink mouse ears down firmly on her head. “You know I will,” she said, before opening the door and jumping - both feet first - out into the snow. “See you next week!”

Tomio closed the door and for a few minutes, he sat and gazed at one of the pictures on the wall. Technically, the Moris had not invited him to do anything, and he was worried that he might be imposing. He missed having a family around, and at new year, when people were celebrating together, it felt crappy to be alone.

Steeling himself, he got up.

Even if they just said thank you for his gift of food, it would at least let him have a moment of sharing a new year as he felt it should be shared.

It felt like putting on armour, as he pulled on his winter coat, scarf, hat and boots. He collected the boxes from the refrigerator. There were three separate stacks, each with four black square boxes piled neatly on top of one another. One was bound with gold ribbon, the other with silver, and the last, for himself, he had tied together with twine.

He carefully packed the boxes into bags, and then switched off the lights and locked the restaurant up behind him. The morning air was bitingly cold, and the sun was only just adding a hint of pale gold at the very edge of the horizon.

Tomio tramped through the snow in the direction of Little Tokyo.

He seldom visited the area, always feeling kind of out of place, like he never really belonged there. This time, though, he was going to visit people who he liked, and who made him feel welcome and appreciated in a way that he knew would be called warm and fuzzy.

It wasn’t a long walk, less than twenty minutes, but by the time he got to the edge of Little Tokyo, his feet and hands felt ice cold. It made him go on: he was closer to a little warmth at the house of the Moris than if he chose to turn and walk home.

The houses lining the streets wouldn’t have looked out of place in any American town, but there were touches here and there that made it clear that this was definitely not just your regular, suburban neighbourhood. There was something in the decorations, in the street signs, in the shape of the lights.

He padded on through the snow. Lights were already on in the windows of the houses that he was passing, more than there were in other neighbourhoods. They were celebrating the new year with the dawn, as the sun crept up slowly, and the darkness of the sky was fading into paler blue.

He finally reached the Moris’ house and hesitated at the end of the path. The snow had been cleared into heaps on either side, and he could see a small lantern lit by the door. There was a light on in the lower room, which he hoped meant that they were up.

Tomio took a breath, walked up the path to the front door and knocked.

Mrs Mori opened the door, and her face broke into a delighted smile. “Momo-chan! Happy new year!”

“Happy new year to you too, Mori-san,” he said, bowing as deeply as he could in a coat three inches thick. He held out the bags with the jubako in them. “I have brought you a gift to celebrate the coming of the new year.”

She blinked owlishly at him, bowing and accepting the bags. She peeked inside, then exclaimed, “Oh! Momo-chan! You have brought Osechi-ryori! You are a wonderful boy!” She opened the door wider, beckoning him in, her hand palm down. “We hoped that you would come.”

“You did?”

She nodded happily. “New year is a time to share with those who are important to you,” she said, as Mr Mori rose from his chair, smiling. “You are important to us, Momo-chan.”

Tomio felt like he was grinning like an idiot.

Mr Mori bowed deeply to him, then stepped closer and clasped his shoulders. “Welcome to the new year, Miyoshi Tomio-san. I hope that it will be full of joy for you.”

Tomio looked from one smiling face to the other. “It already is,” he said happily.

**Author's Note:**

> For those unfamiliar with Japanese fairystories, here are some explanations :)
> 
> Tomio Miyoshi's tale is based around [Momotarō](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Momotar%C5%8D). The name Tomio means 'fortune' or 'wealthy man', depending on translation, which fits for the man who slayed the ogres and made his fortune. The two kanji of Miyoshi separately mean 'peach' and 'forest'. The name Mori uses the same kanji for 'forest'. This was deliberate, so there was a link between him and his adopted parents from the fairytale. And yes, I called him Wealthy Peach. I am Not Subtle :)
> 
> We also had background support from the following:  
> Kitty - [A Kitsune](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kitsune)  
> Melissa - [Melusine](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Melusine) (Mermaid version - European, I know, but she's good with fish)  
> Peter O'Hare and the Old Man - [The Rabbit in the Moon](http://www.japanippon.com/fairytales/rabbitinthemoon.htm) ( _and I only realised after I posted this that I made him run late all the time, so he could well be the White Rabbit in the Moon_ )  
> Amy Rayne - [Ame-Onna, or the Rain Woman](http://www.obakemono.com/obake/ameonna/)


End file.
